Comparative Strangers (14 page)

But that was easier said than done. This was entirely new to her, this slow, lingering exploration of her most intimate self, and her body’s greedy reaction to his touch terrified her. She didn’t want to feel like this—as if she had no will of her own, no existence beyond the caress of those all too knowing fingers. She didn’t want this sense of helplessness, as if she was being carried along on a current too strong for her to fight.

She wanted the mystery solved. She reached for him, her untutored hands fumbling, trying to learn from his response what he wanted from her, her mind shrinking, at the same time, from the strength and power of his maleness and all that it implied.

He said, ‘Oh, Christ,’ the words torn from his throat. Then, ‘Amanda—no I can’t…’

He pushed her back against the pillows, and his body covered hers with a swift urgency that transcended all else. His face was a stranger’s, suddenly stripped of all emotion except desire, the blue eyes glittering. Like ice, she thought, ice that burned…

She cried out, first in fear, then in pain, and the pain filled her mind, and her body. As her muscles tautened against the shock of his invasion of her flesh, she felt as if she was being torn apart, and she pushed unavailingly at his shoulders.

‘Stop it! Leave me alone!’

He said again, ‘I can’t…’ and it was like a cry of despair.

She lay beneath him, crushed and outraged, her body rigid with resentment. It didn’t even matter that the pain had stopped. She had given herself to him, trusted him, and he had betrayed her.

He groaned as his body reached its goal and shuddered against hers. She felt bruised, not merely by his physical possession of her, but by her own anger and disappointment. She lay silent and unmoving, until at last he rolled away from her, and lay, his face buried in the pillow, his breathing harsh and uneven.

She took a breath of her own. In a small voice, icy with distaste, she said, ‘Is that—
that
—what all the fuss is about?’

Malory lifted himself on to one elbow, and looked down at her, his face guarded. He said, ‘Not exactly…’

‘I’m delighted to hear it,‘ she said. ’Otherwise, the human race would have died out centuries ago.‘

There was a pause, then he said quietly, ‘I know it’s no excuse, but when you touched me like that, my control just—snapped…’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘Then it’s all my fault.’

‘It’s not a question of fault—although I should have realised earlier from your reaction how totally innocent you were.’ He touched her face gently with his hand. ‘Darling, I did try to warn you that there’s no such thing as instant bliss.’

‘So you did,’ she said, bitterly sarcastic. ‘What a fool I was not to heed your warning.’ She turned her head away, rejecting his touch.

His mouth hardened. He said, too evenly, ‘I’m sorry the earth didn’t move for you, my sweet. Perhaps you’ll be more lucky next time.‘

He threw back the covers and got out of bed, reaching down to pick up his discarded clothes from the floor.

She said in a low, shaking voice, ‘There isn’t going to be any next time.‘

For a moment, he stood in silence, then he took the covers she was holding defensively, and ripped them from her clutch. Ashamed and angry, she cried out, trying to shield herself with her hands while his glance raked mercilessly down her naked body.

He said softly, almost menacingly, ‘Oh, yes, there bloody well is.’ He tossed the sheet back over her, and walked away into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

She lay, watching the closed door with a kind of shocked disbelief, then slowly her stunned body began to tremble.

The rain dashed itself against the window as if it was trying to break into the house, and Amanda shuddered, trying to punch the sofa cushions into a more comfortable shape. The desolation of the weather matched her own mood perfectly.

I must have been insane, she thought wretchedly. Completely and utterly mad. And now I’ve ruined everything.

She had fled to the sanctuary of her own room, locking herself in just in case Malory felt inclined to justify his threat by following her there, and inhimself on her again. But she’d been left strictly undisturbed, and had curled up into a miserable ball on her bed, crying until she had no more tears left. And when the storm of weeping had ended and she was calm again, she’d found she was able to think more clearly about what had happened.

There was no doubt that the whole episode had been an unmitigated disaster from every point of view, but she was no longer so inclined to heap all the blame for that on Malory.

She had never joined in the girl-talk confidences about sex at the flat, partly because she had felt that her love for Nigel was too precious and sacrosanct, but mainly because she’d had nothing to contribute but the depth of her own ignorance. Yet she hadn’t been able to avoid overhearing some of the exchanges, and she could remember hearing Maggie or Fiona relating some horror story about her own ‘first time’ and how it had ‘hurt like hell’.

Amanda recalled thinking smugly how different it would be for Nigel and herself. And so it might have been, she told herself defensively, with love to smooth the way.

But she didn’t love Malory, and he didn’t care for her, although she supposed that for him, and any man, a transient physical attraction was enough, and she knew he found her beautiful because he’d said so,

Amanda groaned. It had been total folly to fling herself at him like that, and she still couldn’t fully understand how or why it had happened. I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time, she thought wretchedly.

But that wasn’t sufficient reason to turn the terms of their marriage upside down. In some paradoxical way, it was probably Malory’s cool acceptance of those terms, his ability to distance himself, which had sparked off the powerful, inexplicable attraction which had built in her over the past weeks.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, she told herself, but her heart hadn’t been involved—merely her hormones. And she’d discovered too late that that wasn’t sufficient, and never could be. Which was why Malory had to be made to understand that this afternoon had been an aberration, not to be repeated.

He was a civilised man, she thought feverishly. She believed what he’d said about never forcing himself on a woman. But perhaps no other woman had made him quite as angry as she’d done.

She had a bath, and put on a simple black crepe dress with a gold chain belt before going downstairs. Her mirror told her that, although pale, she looked much as usual. There were no outer signs of the trauma she’d gone through.

Except I no longer have virginal eyes, she thought wryly.

But the calm, rational confrontation she’d envisaged was not to be. A ruffled Mrs Priddy told her that Dr Templeton had gone out, giving no indication when he intended to return.

Amanda picked at a solitary dinner, then retired to the drawing-room to drink her way through a pot of black coffee.

She cast a glance at the carriage clock. It was getting incredibly late. Mrs Priddy had been in to clear the coffee away, and wish her goodnight. She supposed she should go to bed, but she wanted to see Malory and make some kind of peace with him first. Now, it occured to her for the first time that he might not be coming home that night.

Even as her mind recoiled from the implications of that, the door opened, and he walked in.

Dry-mouthed, she said, ‘Hello. You—you’ve missed dinner…’

‘I’ve eaten, thank you.‘ He sat down on the sofa opposite.

‘Oh. Well, would you like a cup of coffee—or a drink?’ She sounded like a hostess with an awkward guest, she thought with a pang.

He said politely, after a pause, ‘A whisky, perhaps,’ adding drily, ’The usual anodyne.‘

She poured it for him, her hand shaking a little. She wished she’d been able to face him hours ago. As it was, she’d had the entire evening for her nervousness and embarrassment to build up.

She handed him his drink, and resumed her seat. Jerkily, she said, ‘Malory, about this afternoon— I’m sorry,’

‘So am I,’ he said coolly. ‘Let’s consider the matter closed, shall we?’

‘But we can’t,’ Amanda protested. ‘I said some awful things to you.’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘Yes, but—I shouldn’t have criticised you—in that way…’

He smiled without humour. ‘Advice to young wives?’ he enquired ironically. ‘Always praise your husband’s performance in bed, however inept it may be? What agony column did that gem come from?’

She flushed. Nothing about this conversation was going as she intended. ‘It didn’t. But I want you to know I’m deeply ashamed about—everything. It should never have happened.’

He drank some of the whisky. ‘As a matter of interest, why did it happen?’

‘I—I don’t understand…’

He sighed shortly. ‘Yes, you do, Amanda. Why did you come to me as you did—offer yourself?’

She bent her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted in a muffled voice. ‘I suppose I just wanted to know…’

‘What sex was like?’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘Well, I’m glad I was able to satisfy your curiosity, if nothing else.’

She moved her shoulders uncomfortably. ‘Don’t. It—it wasn’t your fault.’

‘I’ve no intention of evading my share of the blame.’ His voice was almost bored. ‘I know quite well you weren’t sufficiently aroused.’ He shrugged. ‘I was an impatient idiot.’ He paused. ‘Of course, if I’d had the least idea I was going to be seduced, I’d have contrived to come back from the conference slightly less tired and on edge.’

She swallowed. ‘Why did you come back so early?’

‘The last speaker went down with some twenty-four-hour virus and cancelled.’

‘Oh.’ She assimilated that, wondering what she’d been expecting him to say. That he’d been missing her so desperately, he couldn’t stay away for a moment longer? Fat chance, under the circumstances, she thought in self-derision. ‘Was—was it an interesting conference?’

‘No.’ He drank the remainder of the whisky and put down the tumbler. There was a purposefulness about the movement which alarmed her.

She said quickly, ‘Well, if I can’t get you any supper, I think I’ll go up…’

‘Not yet,’ he said evenly. ‘Come here, Amanda.’ He patted the cushion beside him.

A muscle worked convulsively in her throat. ‘I— I don’t want.. ’

‘But I do.’ His eyes met her pleading gaze, held it. ‘Don’t make me fetch you.’

He spoke gently enough, but she didn’t argue any more. Mutely, she crossed the space between them, and sat down beside him.

There was a silence, then he said, ‘When I said we should forget this afternoon, it was a nonsense. We can’t, of course.’ He put out a hand and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers caressed her lobe, and found the sensitive area underneath. In spite of herself, her throat arched in shocked response.

But if she’d feared he would see that as a signal to throw her on to the rug and jump on her, she couldn’t have been more wrong. The stroking hand moved to the nape of her neck, sending small, delicious shivers rippling over her scalp. She was almost purring by the time his fingers found the metal tab of the zip at the back of her dress, and began to propel it downwards.